Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

T he next morning, Daniel stood by the window of his study, watching the sunlight filter through the parting clouds, casting a golden glow over the damp grounds of Blackwood Manor. The storm had passed, leaving behind a sense of calm, but inside Daniel, a different kind of storm brewed. Four days. Four days of tending to Eliza, watching over her, listening for every small sound that might signal her waking. Each moment had deepened the pull he felt toward her. She had stirred something in him that he hadn't felt in years—a sense of purpose beyond his own struggles. Now, as she prepared to leave, a strange mix of relief and regret settled in his chest.

Adam watched his friend with a sharp eye. "What seems to ail you this morning?"

"Nothing," Daniel grumbled .

Adam laughed. "It can't be nothing if you're storming about."

"I only wonder at the sensibility of her leaving today."

"She's not going far—only next door."

"And will she be taken care of? Her servants may not be up to the task."

Adam raised his eyebrow. "I'm fairly certain her servants are competent. But if you'd like me to go and check on how she is faring with her packing, I could casually ask her the question for you."

"That will not be necessary."

"There is no pleasing you." Adam smirked. "You know that the only way you could really ensure her comfort and safety is to marry her, right?"

Daniel's thoughts gravitated toward what Adam had just said. Marriage to someone as lovely as Eliza—it was a thought he had pushed aside for the last few weeks. But now, the thought took center stage on his brain. "I suppose that is the easiest way."

Adam shook his head, laughing. "Ah, fools and the way they try to think so logically."

"You think I'm a fool?"

Adam shrugged. "Only a fool in love."

Daniel scowled.

Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "I think it's endearing, actually."

"I need to make sure that everything is right before I pursue something like love. "

"Why?"

"Because … that's how it has to be. There is still much to work out. I'm still very much broken from the war."

"This is love, Daniel, not war. You do not have to have a battle plan before you go in. The odds are, even if you have a plan, things will change. Don't hesitate simply because you haven't figured out how to work out all the details ahead of time."

Daniel let his cousin's words sink into him. Military strategy required precision, but he didn't have to treat every aspect of his life as if he were making a decision as a captain. It was a shift in his thinking. And it felt freeing. "I'm not sure how to apply that yet, but I will think about what you have said."

"You do that, and you may find that things get a little easier for you," Adam said.

A knock sounded from the doorway, and a moment later, the butler stepped in. "Miss Montrose is ready to depart, Captain."

Daniel nodded, smoothing down the front of his jacket as if that simple act could straighten his thoughts as well. She was well enough to return home—a fact that should have filled him with relief. It was a good sign. Yet, as he turned to follow the butler to the grand foyer, a heavy weight settled in his chest. It felt as though with her departure, something vital was slipping away, and the sense of loss made it hard to breathe.

When he entered the foyer, there she stood by the door, the morning light catching in her hair and framing her pale face. Despite her lingering fragility, she looked radiant, her soft blue bonnet complementing the delicate flush of her cheeks. Her ankle was still bandaged, but she stood with far more strength than when he'd carried her through the rain-soaked gardens.

When their eyes met, Daniel's breath caught. The corners of her lips lifted into a small, warm smile, one that stirred something deeper in his chest. How was it that, in just a few days, her presence had become so essential to him?

"Eliza," he greeted, his voice softer than usual, carrying an unfamiliar warmth. "I see you're well enough to leave us."

"Thank you, Daniel," she replied, dipping into a small curtsy. "You and your household have been more than generous."

He stepped closer, unable to resist the pull of being near her. The delicate scent of lavender surrounded her, mingling with the morning air, and he was reminded of the quiet moments they'd shared—moments when she seemed to draw him out of himself. "It was no trouble at all. I'm relieved to see you so recovered."

For a moment, they stood there, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Daniel cleared his throat, forcing himself to step back. "Shall I escort you to the carriage?"

"I'd like that very much," she said, her eyes holding his for a heartbeat longer before they both turned toward the door.

He offered her his arm, feeling the familiar warmth that always bloomed in his chest when she touched him. The simple touch ignited a quiet thrill that spread through him. Every time he'd been near her these past few days, the sensation had grown stronger—this need to keep her close, to protect her, to share in her life. The connection between them had grown and deepened in ways he hadn't anticipated.

They walked toward the waiting carriage, the soft rustle of her skirts and the click of their shoes against the stone echoing in the stillness of the morning. Daniel was acutely aware of the warmth of her hand resting on his arm, the way her fingers gently curled against the fabric of his coat. As they neared the carriage, a strange tightness gripped his chest, something more than mere concern for her well-being.

He helped her into the plush interior, careful not to jostle her injured ankle. The delicate scent of her perfume lingered in the air as she settled into the seat, and he found himself hesitating, not ready to step away.

"If you should need anything, you have but to ask," he said, his tone deliberately measured, though the tightness in his throat betrayed him.

Eliza smiled, adjusting her cloak around her shoulders. "I'm grateful for that. Thank you. I'm sure that my housekeeper will be able to tend to me. "

"Of course she will—but the offer still stands."

Daniel's hesitation lingered. He didn't want her to manage alone—a staff was much different from friends, like Emily and himself. "With your permission, I would like to call on you soon to see how you're faring. Perhaps I could bring something to occupy your time while you recover—perhaps a book?"

Her smile widened, and it was as though the entire morning brightened with it. "That would be most welcome, Daniel."

Hearing her use his name, so intimate, sent a warmth flooding through him. He offered a small bow, stepping back from the carriage. "Until then, Eliza."

As the carriage rolled down the gravel path, Daniel watched it disappear, feeling strangely hollow. The tightness in his chest didn't ease, even as he reminded himself that he would see her again. He would see her tomorrow.

Over the next few days, Daniel made his way to Eliza's cottage with increasing regularity. Each visit seemed to pull him deeper into the connection growing between them.

On his first visit, he brought her a small book of poetry, unsure if the gift would be too forward. But when she lit up at the familiar words and began tracing the delicate pages, he felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. They spent the afternoon reading passages aloud, their conversation weaving from the verses to other subjects, including family and their favorite memories. Each shared moment made Daniel feel more at ease than he had in years.

His second visit was lighter, more playful. He arrived with a bouquet of lilies and wildflowers from his estate. When Eliza saw them, her laughter bubbled out, soft and full of life. "I should be the one giving you flowers, Daniel," she had teased, arranging them in a vase on the windowsill next to where she sat.

"Nonsense," he had replied, his gaze lingering on her as she moved with easy grace. "It's the least I could do."

But it was the third visit, when he brought a basket filled with sweetbreads from the manor's kitchen, that the weight of his feelings truly settled over him. They sat in her cozy drawing room, the scent of fresh bread mingling with the delicate fragrance of flowers. Eliza's laughter filled the space as she teased him about his choice of poetry, and Daniel found himself watching her more closely than ever before.

Eliza's laughter had a way of chasing away the lingering shadows in his mind. Every moment spent in her company felt like a reprieve from the darkness that had long haunted him. It was as if, in focusing on her—on the joy in her voice, the gentle tilt of her head as she listened—his own thoughts and troubles quieted. The nightmares that had plagued him were distant memories in her presence, and he was able to push aside the weight of his own troubles.

He watched her now, her fingers delicately breaking apart the bread as she spoke of her garden. The scent of the flowers mingled with the warm sweetness of the bread, and for the first time in what felt like years, Daniel realized he wasn't waiting for the darkness to return.

As Eliza broke off a piece of bread, her fingers delicate against the golden crust, she looked up at him, her brow furrowed slightly. "Daniel, is something on your mind?"

He blinked, realizing he'd been staring at her, lost in thought. "Forgive me," he said softly, shaking his head. "I was only thinking."

Her smile was gentle, her eyes searching his face. "About what?"

He hesitated, unsure how to put his feelings into words. "About how when I'm here with you, I feel more myself. Like there's more to life than what's behind me."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing his as she set down the bread. "I'm glad to hear that, Daniel. I've found happiness in your company as well."

Something stirred in his chest at her words, something deep and undeniable. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his, his fingers curling gently around hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them filled with something more than words.

"I can't ignore these feelings any longer," Daniel said, his voice low and steady. "I care for you, Eliza. More than I've allowed myself to admit. And if you'll permit me, I'd like to court you properly."

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, her eyes wide with surprise and warmth. "I would like that, Daniel," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles, the simple gesture filled with all the emotion he couldn't yet put into words. As he held her hand, the future seemed less uncertain, the darkness that had once consumed him now just a shadow, distant and fading.